Heathen's Blood
by Papa Khan
Summary: The old Gods of the Norse pantheon are stirring. After centuries of exile in the realm of Asgard, they have emerged to challenge the power of the Christian God, gathering strength to do battle once more. As battle lines are drawn on Midgard, Odin calls the Heathen's blood, calling the descendants of pagans back to the old ways.
1. Chapter 1

With the opening of the mighty gates, the old man felt a tremendous gust of wind break against his body like a wave would against a rock, blowing his wanderer's cloak behind him so far it stood horizontal at his shoulders and sending his two pet Ravens fluttering away from his shoulder in terror, cawing loudly at the disruption, their frustration obvious. Yet the old man didn't flinch at the raw power, smiling instead at the chill it brought to his old bones, for he had not felt such a profound feeling in his aged joints in centuries. As his cloak settled at his feet and his Ravens perched on his shoulder once more, the old man chuckled as he fed his two pets breadcrumbs to calm them and their irritable pecking. "Yes" he whispered, "they remember us".

Starting forward, the aged man strode forth through the gateway of Asgard which stands several stories tall, his noble, determined posture a stark contrast to his aged appearance and tattered clothing. Despite walking with a staff, he did not seem to rely on it at all, instead holding it with the grasp and ceremony that a mighty emperor would grant a sceptre, although the staff itself was not a beautiful thing, being a worn yet sturdy piece of wood. Hearing the calls to close the gate and the strains of both men and wood behind him, the wanderer pricked his ears for the earth shattering boom that would announce that he stood alone on the road he had not travelled for centuries. As the gate finally shut, what followed could only be described as a thunderclap magnified tenfold, the very boom vibrating down the road that the man wandered, reaching his feet and travelling up his bones, giving his very movement new purpose, encouraging him to strive at a quicker pace yet maintaining his regal stature. The power that he now felt was coldly familiar, yet reassuring. Underneath his hood, the old man gave himself a grin oōf confidence at this reassurance. Strength, once sapped and stolen from him, was now embedded deep within his very core.

Allowing himself to look up and gaze upon the beauty that surrounded him, a mixture of a sigh of nostalgia and a gasp of wonder escaped him, for neither mortal nor God can grow tired of the sight of the cosmos around us. Even the Ravens ceased their cawing, at least for a time and jerked their heads to take in the spectacle, before returning to their irritating calls for attention and breadcrumbs. The man ignored their calls and continued to stride with confidence, taking in the once oh so familiar surroundings, gazing at planets in their orbit, stars both distant and near and the light that stretched wherever he looked, but was reflected marvellously on the road he tread which bore each and every light known in existence and glowed as brightly as the traveller desired. For the solitary wanderer, it served to illuminate his path for the hour he walked until he saw his destination, a humble gate beside a a small drinking hall manned by a single, unmoving guardian, bearing a large, one handed axe and a solid oaken shield, rippling with power barely contained within his armour. As the traveller approached, the guard remained unflinching in his watch, until the gap between the two figures closed to only a few steps, at which point the guardian swung around with such speed he appeared as a blur, laying his axe on the road in front of him and his shield by his side. The traveller stopped, fixing his gaze on the kneeling guard, his chest swelling with pride for the guardian who kept his oath and his watch for millennia, even in the centuries of solitude where Bifrost lay abandoned and Asgard locked.

With little hesitation, the guard, still staring at the boots of the wanderer, did give his oath. "My lord, as you have bid since the beginning of my watch, I have remained vigilant and stalwart on the gate to Asgard. No giant has evaded me, nor trickster set foot on Bifrost, for I see all, hear all, and know all, as you have seen fit to endow me with gifts of senses second to none. Here I stand, awaiting the time of Ragnarok, the end times, ready to blow the horn of my sacred badge of office. Whether you are here to relieve me of my watch or embark on your many journeys beyond Asgard, I remain your servant, ready to aid you at your behest."

The words were delivered with the coldness of a sentry who's duty he upheld above all else, but the aged traveller could hear the emotion behind his oath. For a god to stand, unflinching, unwavering, at the gates to Asgard, watching the centuries pass as the gods remained inside the immortal city awaiting Ragnarok, when even the tide of warriors seeking entrance to Valhalla stopped, such a solitary existence would test even Heimdallr's will. Yet here he stood, loyal, unflinching and remembering the words that he so eagerly wished to say to his Lord.

"Arise Heimdallr. I bid you arise, for I am on no journey, but rather, I have summoned the strength to embark from Asgard. Your watch is suspended while I rest here, watching the nine worlds for you. Go inside to your home, Himinbjörg, drink of the good mead that was promised, and rest your tired eyes." Now it was the wanderer's turn to hide emotion behind formal lines.

Heimdallr did indeed arise, and his Lord saw the face of a God who was relieved after so many centuries, not just to rest, but also relieved to see his Lord, emerged from Asgard and stronger than he had been in centuries. Drawing back his hood and sending the Ravens to perch on the gate itself, the wanderer rested a wrinkled hand on the mailed shoulder and smiled at his guard, with a single bright, blue eye and a beaming smile from beneath a glowing white beard.

"Rest, my friend. You have earned it."

As Heimdallr marched to his drinking hall, relieved for the first time in centuries, the Wanderer sat down on a treestump by the gate of his realm, and began his watch. Odin had emerged. The gods had stirred.

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	2. An unwelcome arrival

His joints ached at the disruption as he settled himself on the stump, but the Allfather remained uncaring of the pain and listened for Heimdallr's first action. Would he rest his tired eyes, or taste of the good mead he had been promised? Odin could only chuckle as he heard the faint sounds of a barrel being struck open, followed by a drinking horn being filled. Satisfied that his guard had relaxed enough, Odin turned his attention to the other eight worlds that the gods watched over. While not blessed with the extreme sight that Heimdallr possessed, indeed, Odin only possessed one eye, he nevertheless was able to see much of the universe and what occurred on the worlds below Asgard, down to the very roots of the sacred world tree, Yggdrasil.

As always, he only cast a momentary glance on the world of Hel, where the dishonest, the dishonourable and the cowardly reside after their deaths. Odin cared little for those condemned to such a fate, where they must drink goat urine rather than fine mead and huddle in the cold and the dark rather than around a blazing fire like at Valhalla. Above that world lay another, shrouded in a darkness greater than Hel for it was Svartálfaheimr, the land of the dark elves. Odin paid little heed for such a corrupt land, and moved his gaze onwards to the more friendly world of Nidavellir, land of the dwarves, with whom the gods have enjoyed centuries of friendship, battles and feasts. Now the Gods were stirring, perhaps those golden centuries would be felt again.

And so Odin watched the remaining worlds with a mixture of nostalgia and bitter memories, spitting when he was forced to look upon Jotunheim with its barbarous population of Ice Giants and the general, frozen hell-like landscape and gave a respecting nod in salute of the Venir's world of Vanaheimr. However, he reserved the longest gaze and most mixed feelings for Midgard, home of humanity.

Millennia ago, Odin was capable of seeing all of Midgard at his whim, especially the homelands of his people who carried his blood in their veins, but in the thousands of years since, that ability had declined with his strength and ultimately was snuffed out. Relaxing his grip on the staff he used to prop himself on the tree stump, the old man felt his pets caws slip away, as he gazed, perhaps lovingly, it was difficult to tell with the Allfather at times, at the solitary blue orb that floated majestically in the cosmos. As it twisted and turned, Odin was able to cast his gaze on the fatherlands of his people, and his own face twisted in equal parts of horror, disgust and amazement. The teeming masses that inhabited the lands, millions, nay hundreds of millions. The grey Giants of stone that housed these masses and removed once great green landscapes from existence. The crimes, vice and debauchery that the Allfather had not seen since the Roman Empire, causing him to hawk and spit with disgust for a second time. However, Odin reserved his true contempt for the millions of churches that had been erected. Tightening his grip on the staff and turning his sapphire blue eye to an icy cold stare that could freeze the blood of any mortal that would have approached him then.

Those temples to the false god that had sought to eradicate the Norse Gods and their followers from existence had only grown in size, number and splendour. From tiny huts to leviathans of rock larger than palaces, they now existed in every nation. Odin's lip curled as he remembered the riches that these churches once contained, Gold, Silver, relics. True, most churches had lost such precious metals, but now they were lit by glass of many colours and decorated by richly ordained fabrics.

By contrast, the shrines that had once littered the earth had almost completely disappeared. The shrines that honoured him and his kin had been largely eradicated, either destroyed by fanatics or abandoned and fallen to disrepair. Temples of gods and goddesses across Midgard had been smashed to pieces, and worse, yet more churches had been built on the rubble, with the foul cross raised overhead to signify victory. "Aye" whispered Odin, "and they had that".

Even on the continents that Odin and his followers had never cared for, the Americas, Oceania and Asia, the cross was raised, a symbol of dominance, supremacy and overlordship. The discomfort he felt grew into rage as these, "lambs of God", were spread over the earth. An infestation, like woodworm in a feasting hall. They were weak, yet they reigned over Midgard while his wolves were dead, mere bones in the ground. It disgusted him. Why had he stirred, what power had been returned to him, only to bear witness to the cess pit that Midgard had become? To see millions file into churches to receive blessings from priests robes in purest white yet possessing hearts that were black as coal from corruption? He could only clutch his staff tighter, frowning in outrage and desperately searching with his one eye for a hopeful sign that granted him the strength to emerge from his exile in Asgard.

"There! Focusing on a single ritual circle in Norway, he found it. Fourteen bearded men, placed around a sacred yew tree. with long unkempt light hair and clothed in white robes decorated with symbols of the faith, chanting in veneration of his name, his sons, his wife. The words, oh how they sounded to him. Praise, reverence, acceptance of him as his Lord. A faint twitch of a smile struck him, and the Allfather gazed at Midgard with hope.

Continuing his search with his one eye, he saw similar rituals across the fatherlands. Denmark, Sweden, Norway, all contained pagans following the old ways. They chanted his name, Men, women and children. They were few and isolated, and worshipped in different ways, bearing different names that were new to him, Asatru, Odinism, Heathenry. It mattered little to him. The colonies, England, Scotland, the islands around, Iceland, Ireland, Wales, even as far as America, nation he had little knowledge of and cared even less for. Every one of those nations that his followers had raided, settled and warred over. Their descendants had preserved his blood in their veins and now they called to him and his kin, giving them strength. His rage tempered, Odin relaxed his grip on his staff and lay back on the stump.

"Yes," He whispered "They remember us. They call to us".

The smile turned into a wide grin and with the aching pain in his joints lessened, Odin felt a surge of triumph flow through his aged body. Rising to his feet and throwing his head back in reckless abandon he bellowed to the cosmos a warcry that he had not given in centuries, that spoke of ageless wisdom and infinite strength thought lost.

"HEAR ME, SONS OF ABRAHAM! HEAR ME, YOU 'LAMBS OF GOD'! HEAR MY WORDS AND DESPAIR! KNOW THAT YOUR VICTORY WAS ONLY TEMPORARY, AND PEACE HAS MADE YOU WEAK! KNOW THAT MY KIN, WHOSE FURY KNOWS NO BOUNDS, HAVE STIRRED TO AVENGE OUR FOLLOWERS WHO FELL UNDERNEATH YOUR BOOTS! THEIR DESCENDANTS LIVE AMONGST YOU AND THEY SHALL HEED OUR CALL! FOR THE END OF DAYS IS COMING FOR ALL, KNOW THAT HEATHENS EVERYWHERE WILL RISE WITH THEIR GODS AND TAKE BACK WHAT WAS LOST!"

Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Odin listened to the distant echo of his own voice as it reverberated around the cosmos. True, on Midgard, they would not hear it, although a few minor earthquakes may be felt here and there, but it was not just Midgard who Odin intended to target. His mortal, or perhaps, immortal enemies would come. They would hear that call and they would answer it.

Settling himself down on the treestump, the Allfather felt the need to rest his eyes, for despite being immortal, his weakened state meant that the trappings of age could still affect him, and with the cawing of his pets, and Heimdallr's distant snores in the background, his eyelids fell shut and he slept.

He felt it before he woke up. A disturbance in his own realm of this magnitude had not been felt for centuries and even now, after all this time,the Allfather knew what it meant. It heralded the arrival of a great being and he knew it, although even in his weakened state he pondered whether he could face against it in his weakened state. The being could not enter the realm of Asgard, never mind the sacred City, without his permission, but Odin winced at the idea of hiding behind a gate. Nevertheless, he resolved to sit on the tree stump and give the cold face to whoever arrived.

From outside the gate, yet still on the Bifrost road to Midgard, a pinhole of light appeared. Despite its size, it glowed with the intensity of a thousand suns, forcing Odin to turn his face away slightly, lest he risk blinding his one good eye, yet he turned away only slightly, as he despised showing weakness. The pinhole grew quickly, expanding at an alarming rate, and it's light burned like a supernova. From its centre, a silhouette appeared and emerged, then, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, leaving behind a single man

Turning his gaze to size up the newcomer, Odin groaned quietly and rolled his eye as the figure approached. Wearing robes of whitest Ivory, hair of gold and skin that shone, Odin hated him already. Striding forward confidently, with more than a hint of arrogance, the angel fixed a false smile and tried to appear friendly, though Odin could clearly see he had a celestial sword at his hip.

"Wotan, Allfather, Odin" beamed the angel, never losing the smile on his oh so punchable face, "how long has it been? You know, God was beginning to wonder whether you'd ever come out. I suppose this counts as a diplomatic mission, although you and I both know this can be resolved quickly. What say you?"

By now he had reached the gate, and his eyes had assumed an expectant look on the gate, as if it would swing open at his approach, no doubt as it would in heaven. Under his thick white beard, Odin's lip curled in disgust as he sized up the Archangel and his brow furrowed in irritation. Regardless, if his visit was diplomatic, Odin was bound by guest rites, to allow him to enter his realm. Sighing and raising his hand, Odin beckoned for the gate to open, which it dutifully did. The archangel confidently strode in without his invitation, causing Odin's temple to flare up, yet he suppressed it. Raising his head to make eye contact, Odin caught full sight of the Angel, and through gritted teeth, he spoke.

"Welcome to Asgard, Gabriel of Heaven".


	3. The First Clash

Despite all his diplomatic composure, Gabriel wrinkled his nose as he entered the realm of Asgard. It was impressive, in its own crude, barbarous way. Impressive more for it's size rather than any structure it contained and was clearly long past any former glory it once had. In the distance, the faint flicker of torches could be seen from behind Asgard's mighty walls, which almost caused the Archangel himself to frown at the memory of many a battle or raid fought beneath its walls. Turning back to the hunched figure sat on the decayed stump in front of him, Gabriel felt a twinge of satisfaction, how this being who claimed to be a god, who had slain so many angels, had been brought to heel and secured within his own realm. Relaxing a little and ignoring the angry caws of Odin's pet Ravens, he confidently strode to the old man's side, although he kept his distance, a little out of respect, a little out of caution. After all these centuries, who knew what he was still capable of, if anything.

"My Lord God, saviour of earth, who judges the living and the dead and resides in heaven, the father of Jesus Christ, who gave his life to conquer death and who died so that man may live, archnemesis of the fallen angels and supreme God Of all creation, sends his blessings upon hearing that you have emerged from your city". Delivered with all of the practise of a herald and the arrogance of an angel.

Hesitating at first, Odin grumbled "And I accept these blessings". Smirking at this little victory, Gabriel pressed on.

"I trust that I find you in good health, noble Odin?"

Repressing his rage, Odin swiftly raised his head and fixed his sole blue eye on the archangel, Odin spat "Get on with it you mewling Sycophant, I didn't wait centuries to emerge to listen to your prattle."

Taken aback, Gabriel hesitated. There was life in the old dog yet, it seemed. Matters were not helped as Heimdallr, half dressed in magnificent armour and with his long blonde hair streaked around his face, crashed through the doors of his drinking hall, shield raised and and Axe at hand, causing Gabriel to instinctively reach for his celestial sword.

"ENOUGH!" Roared the old God, his eye fixed on his expectant guard, now confused as to what the Archangel was doing in Asgard. "There will be no blood spilt here. This angel has guest rite" with more than a hint of bitterness at the last sentence. Reluctantly, Heimdallr lowered his weapons, his stare never leaving Gabriel.

"Your guard is slipping, Allfather" Added the angel, mockingly " I expected him to be here the moment I arrived. Instead I find a sleeping guard dog, with " Gabriel sniffed the air with obvious disgust, "and a drunk as well. Is this what you call someone who keeps to his oath?"

Heimdallr shook with rage, wanting nothing more than to charge and behead this man who radiated arrogance. His young appearance only made it worse, as any elder despises being talked down to by a youth. Despite his age, Gabriel looked scarcely over twenty, while Heimdallr looked in his mid forties, sturdy, but with weakness showing.

"That's enough out of you too Gabriel," Odin shot back. "Guest rite only extends so far."

Lowering his head in fake sincerity, Gabriel bowed "Of course, noble Odin" turning to Heimdallr to repeat the gesture "I meant no offence". Heimdallr could only grunt in acceptance at this poor apology.

Turning to his guard, Odin dismissed him with a wave of his hand, adding "fetch the good mead, Heimdallr. I trust our guest must be parched from his journey".

Eyes opened wide at being sent with his tail between his legs in front of the Angel, Heimdallr could not believe what he was hearing. It took a moment for him to process the order, before dutifully marching off.

"My apologies, noble Odin, but I don't drink" confessed Gabriel

"Of course you don't, you abnoxious bastard" muttered Odin under his breath, his patience for the Angel wearing thin at every passing moment.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Water for our guest, Heimdallr!"

Gabriel frowned, this was not going to plan at all. The heathens had clearly forgotten heaven's wrath after all these centuries. No matter, an archangel performed his duty, no matter the obstruction.

"Are you going to offer me a seat, as is customary?"

Odin grunted, "You can sit on Bifrost or stand, I can't pull another stump out of my arse, now get on with it!"

Gabriel seethed at the blatant defiance, his patience wearing thin, but it would not do to show weakness in front of this filthy old man. Better to be done with this foul business as soon as possible.

"My Lord God, saviour of all..."

"Get on with it!"

"And indeed, most of Heaven's inhabitants heard a most rousing speech a few hours ago. One that in the distance, seemed to mimic your voice. Most disturbingly, it told of a resurgence of heathenry and paganism, of violence against loyal christians. Naturally, my Lord called a war council. Some of the cherubim and seraphim advocated a retaliatory raid, a first strike against your pitiful realm. Naturally, I called for diplomacy, that such a speech must have been a misunderstanding. Loki perhaps. So Allfather, what say you?"

Odin sat for a few moments, playing with his beard, twiddling his fingers on his staff, doing all he could to irritate the angel, finally, he abruptly declared with a shrug of his shoulders, "No, it was me. I said it."

Gabriel went pale for a second but steeled himself. "You called for violence?"

"Yes."

"What you did was a blatant declaration of war against heaven, you realise?"

"Yes"

"You must recant...apologise..."

"No"

For the first time in this encounter, Gabriel was at a loss for words. Didn't the crazy old fool see that he taunted forces far beyond his comprehension?

"If you proceed with your chosen path, you will be crushed, your realm reduced to ashes"

"So be it, I have longed for war and a final war is inevitable. The end of days comes for us all, archangel."

"Some sooner than others."

"Aye."

"You disregard peace, the treaty you signed..."

"I piss on the treaty".

Gabriel felt rage burn inside him, along with a nagging sense of failure. He couldn't let war break out, not again, he would be cast down like Lucifer for such a failure. No, he could not allow this to happen. Drawing his celestial sword, he pointed its golden edge directly under the wanderer's chin, as a slow fire burnt up from the hilt to the point, singeing the Old God's beard. To his surprise, Odin did not flinch, only moving his one eye from the sword, moving up to Gabriel's face.

"You're going to kill me, boy?" His voice calm, unsettling Gabriel.

"You should have been put down centuries ago, an old dog like you is good for nothing."

Chuckling, Odin continued to throw Gabriel off guard.

"I'm no dog, boy, I'm an old wolf. Do you know the difference?" Before the angel could reply, Odin struck out with his leg, cracking into the Angel's knee. With a sharp cry, Gabriel went down, his sword slipping from underneath the wanderer's chin. Rising to his feet, Odin shoved the angel away and grasped his staff. Within moments, it had shapeshifted, forming a noble spear carved with runes, his sacred weapon, Gungir.

"A wolf has fangs!" Spat Odin, levelling his weapon at a stumbling Gabriel. Seething with rage for being so disadvantaged by the old man, Gabriel assumed a duelling stance. The Ravens took flight and flew to Asgard, cawing incessantly. Both God and archangel circled each other, neither one making a move, until Gabriel, with a loud cry, charged in and drove his sword down on the Old God, aiming for his one good eye. Sidestepping the angel, Odin dodged the strike and lunged the spear at Gabriel's back, which Gabriel parried as he swiftly turned round, before aiming to decapitate Odin.

Odin ducked, but tiredness was already beginning to set into his old joints as he launched back up, headbutting the angel and driving him back a step, but was unable to prevent Gabriel from striking back savagely with the hilt of his sword in a powerful punch. Knocked straight to the floor, he was defenceless, barely keeping hold of Gungir as he looked up at the angel, blood streaming from a broken nose. Had Heimdallr not intervened, the killing blow would have been struck. Charging from within the hall with a loud warcry, Heimdallr drove his axe down, aiming for Gabriel's neck.

With Gabriel's blood up, he had no problem pivoting on his heels and parrying the blow, kicking at the back of Heimdallr's knee to force him to the ground. The unexpected assault surprised Heimdallr, and he was barely able to raise his shield in time to block the sword. Gabriel drove down blow after blow, each strike making dents in the heavy oaken shield and deadening Heimdallr's arm. Surging upwards with a loud warcry, Heimdallr tried to drive his axe into Gabriel's stomach, only to have his offending arm gripped by Gabriel and having to grab Gabriel's arm to prevent being stabbed. The two grappled, only for Gabriel to headbut Heimdallr, causing both to roar in pain as Heimdallr lost teeth and Gabriel realised they were solid gold. Driven to his knees, Heimdallr was powerless to prevent Gabriel from gripping his head and roared in agony as his skin began to burn, as Gabriel began to chant in tongues and at increasing speed. Heimdallr's roar only grew louder as his skin blistered and all efforts to remive Gabriel's hands prover useless.

A screaming Odin, charging in a frenzy with spear raised high forced Gabriel to release Heimdallr, casting him away as he did so. Grabbing the spear and ripping it's from Odin's grip, Gabriel only had to strike with his fist to send the old God sprawling, bleeding heavily from his nose. A well placed sandal on Odin's throat prevented him from getting back up. Panting heavily, Gabriel addressed Odin

"You fool! Now you fall like every other who resists God, this should have been done centuries ago!" Steeling himself for the killing blow, Gabriel's mind was riddled with doubt. The two gods were old, weak, depleted, how were they able to fight like this at all?

Once again, Odin chuckled, although this time it sounded hoarse due to Gabriel's sandal on his throat. "Foolish boy, you think you can kill me now?" with no reply, he pressed on, "My followers grow in number, so I grow in strength. You're right, I should have been killed centuries ago! I am beyond your petty efforts! Look to Iceland-see?! They build a temple to myself and my kin, I AM A GOD AGAIN!"

Gabriel was shocked, turning to Midgard while pressing his sandal deeper on Odin's throat. Sure enough, he saw the temple being built, he saw the tens of thousands of heathens and his heart sank. The old gods would be strengthened again, he had to get back to heaven to warn them. At that moment, the gates to the city of Asgard opened, revealing abother hammer blow. Hundreds of thousands of warriors, the finest of Valhalla, poured out of the city, screaming their war cries to protect their Lord, while at their head, a flying chariot pulled away. Focusing on the figure inside the chariot, his red hair streaming and one hand clutching an abnormally shaped hammer.

"God in heaven..." Started Gabriel

"He can't protect you now!" Laughed Odin "You can't stop this war, now run, bastard, run home and beg your Lord for forgiveness!"

Rage built within Gabriel, but he could see that Odin was right. Spitting in his face, he ran from Asgard, the open gates shutting behind him with a boom. Creating a portal to his own heavenly realm, tears welled in his eyes as he dwelt on his failure.

Odin slowly rose to his feet as he struggled to regain his breath and sought to ease the pain of both aches of age and several wounds. Hobbling over to Heimdallr, he found him unconscious and with his head covered in burns where Gabriel had placed his palms. He was no healer, and Heimdallr needed help urgently. Watching as his son almost crash landed his chariot, he chose to try to lift Heimdallr but it was pointless. Even by a God's standard, Heimdallr was big. Lifting his head as Thor sprinted over to him, it was all he could do to not pass out.

"Father!" Cried Thor, casting his hammer aside to try to lift Odin, which he did with some effort "Are you hurt? What was the lackey doing here? What happened to Heimdall?

As Odin studied Heimdallr's burns, he saw with horror that biblical verses had begun to emerge from his skin and were beginning to spread over his entire body, verses of death, destruction and decay.

"Forgive me Heimdallr" Whispered Odin. "What have I done?"


	4. The thunder god's warning

Grunting with the effort, Thor lifted Heimdallr onto his muscular shoulders and began the slow hobble to his chariot as his father stumbled behind, using Gungir to support his battered body. Thor still couldn't understand what had happened to his friend or his father, questions would have to wait until the healer of Asgard, Eir, had seen to both of them. Nevertheless, the questions buzzed around Thor's head. What was the Archangel, a general of their sworn enemy, doing within Asgard? What had he done to his father and friend? What was wrong with Heimdallr? As he reached his chariot, Thor was forced to rely on the first few Vallhallan warriors to reach the gates to lift the unconscious gate keeper onto the chariot, requiring an additional three men just to get him off his shoulders. "Heimdallr my friend," groaned Thor, letting out a sigh as he was securely on, "you need to get out more".

Turning to his father, sweat pouring down his chiseled face and causing his red hair and beard to glisten with beads, he could not help but feel irritated as the old man refused to meet his gaze. He had sounded the alarm and flown out the moment he realised his father was in danger, the Archangel fled at his approach and this was how he was repaid? As Odin stepped up into the chariot, he felt a strong arm grasp the back of his cloak and turned to see his son frowning deeply and looking concerned. Yet when he spoke, it was slow and emotionless. "Father, I feel I must know, I have a right to know, what were you doing with the false God's lackey? What was he doing in our realm?"

Looking down at his son, first at his face, and then at his hand still grasping his cloak, Odin contemplated the answer. True, Thor had a right to know, especially as his heir, but now was not the time, nor the place. Asgard had been breached, it's sentinel was crippled and its armies unprepared for war. The other gods must be summoned and brought to heel. Coldly, Odin tugged at his cloak and gave his reply of "In good time my son", before settling down in the chariot, not giving his son another glance. Dissatisfied with the answer, but knowing that his father was the most stubborn God of them all, with the exception of Frigga, trying to get an answer now was pointless. Knowing the chariot (and the two rams who pulled it) could not possibly support the weight of the three gods, he instead adjusted the reins and slapped the rump of one of the rams to get it moving. Bleating in fury, the rams pulled away into a gallop, gathering pace and pulling up into the air, the chariot set off towards Asgard, with Odin still hunched over in a brooding position in the back, next to a still unconscious Heimdallr. Turning back to the now shut gate, Thor addressed the growing number of viking warriors streaming from Valhalla with a bellow, disappointed that the archangel had fled before they could bury their axes in his smug face.

"Warriors of Valhalla! You answered my call to defend my father, and for that I owe you a debt, but for now, the safety of Asgard itself is under threat! The false god dared to send his weakling to face my father, but now that coward had fled, he may return with a host of angels while we ready our defences! You!" He called, raising his hammer to mark out a warband of vikings,numbering about three hundred heroes who perished together as brothers and who now shared their afterlife, "remain here to defend the sacred gates in place of Heimdallr! Kill any who approach you beyond those gates and send word when attacked. Make no mistake, war is upon us!"

A chorus of "yes my lord" greeted this announcement from the warband, and a few grumbles of discontent from the other few hundred thousand warriors who were itching for a fight. As the horde began to move, Thor stood listening to the sound of the army marching back across Bifrost to the sacred city and felt the seeds of uncertainty being planted in his stomach. The power of Asgard was formidable, but could it stand against the relentless tide of Heaven? The gods had never been united in the millions of years of their existence and now they were expected to stand beside a withered old man, caught speaking to their mortal enemy's lackey and injuring their steadfast sentinel in the process? The Prince of Asgard shook his head and blinked many times. This was war! This was what he lived for, regardless of the odds. He had faced down worse, and yet, he could not help but think...

Striding over to where Mjolnir lay, he gripped its handle and lifted it with all the nonchalance of a mortal picking up a knife, in a single movement that came with millennia of never letting the hammer out of his sight, well, except for that one time. Continuing his noble march, he approached the sealed gates and stared outwards at Midgard. As his warriors assumed defensive positions around the gate, Thor could only watch the blue and green orb in its calm orbit. Too soon, it would be a battlefield, and if the gods didn't do anything soon, then their followers would be slaughtered like helpless cattle.

Raising Mjolnir aloft with defiance, Thor summoned dark, ominous stormclouds over him, turning the previously calm skies over Asgard into a brooding mass of black and grey, darkening the entire realm. The warriors behind him watched, holding their breath for the awesome display of power. Thor dipped his hammer and rose it upwards in a punch, his face snarling with rage as lightening struck his hammer and a thunderclap echoed from his position. Dipping it again, he did the same, the lightening strike more violent, the thunderclap louder and his face twisting to show a more primal fury. The third time, he roared in anger as lightening pulsated through him and thunder exploded from his position, enough, he hoped, to be heard across the nine realms and even through the vast and distant Kingdom of Heaven. Thor knew the false God had spies everywhere, including outside the gates of Asgard. While he could not see them, the display of raw power and fury was for them. The message was clear. Asgard was not broken. It stood defiant and the old gods would stand as the drums of war pounded again.

Turning from the gate, Thor marched purposefully away, not meeting the glance of a single warrior as he pondered the next course of action. While they stood in silence, the thunder god couldn't help but notice that underneath their helmets and behind their shields, they grinned at the display. The hunger for battle was still there.

Odin pondered deeply as he soared through the air, wind ripping at his face and cloak and occasionally glancing at the still unconscious Heimdallr, shaking his head as he did so. The verses of the Old Testament had spread across his body and glowed a deep Crimson, throbbing and glowing ever brighter. Spittle leaked out of the side of his mouth as his jaw lay open and slack and more than once Odin felt a heat radiating from him whenever the wind died down. A fever? No, impossible. Heimdallr was stronger than any poison or sickness, but such a thought remained with Odin as he could not help staring at the helpless guard. Whatever Gabriel had done to him, it had ripped straight through Heimdallr and Odin couldn't help but think it was his fault.

"Fault!" Cawed his ravens, as they flew alongside the chariot. Odin blinked in surprise. The ravens hadn't spoken in centuries, having no knowledge to bring him but now this?

"Fault! Fault! Fault!" They cawed again, each time that word pierced into him, though he could not deny it was true. Shaking his head again, he stooped over and ignored them, though a crippling sense of guilt had taken root in him.

As the chariot approached Asgard, Odin wasn't surprised to find that the valkyries had taken flight and were flying alongside the chariot. Their winged horses circling around in a protective manoeuvre, it would have usually warmed Odin's heart, but this time he was in no mood for a display of any sort so he ignored it completely. It was true that they were doing their duty, but so had Heimdallr, and he now lay comatose at Odin's feet and that was all he could focus on. That, and his next course of action.


	5. The war council

Soaring high over the walls of Asgard, Odin could have seen the wonder of his eternal city. Heaven boasted pillars of bronze and marble, pearly white and gleaming but Asgard was of a different majesty. The city had few stone buildings and so the majority of the houses were wooden, in the traditional viking style. Ranging from huts to halls, some with thatched roofs or even with grass growing over them, the homes of Asgard were humble. With hearths within these homes blazing for most of the day and night, the chimneys emitted smoke that would have made flying overhead a choking ordeal, but Odin remained dead to the world around him and continued brooding. The wanderer only stirred when he flew past Helgafjell, the holy mountain where those who lived honourable lives but did not die in battle resided. The old men, the children, the sick. They were free to wander the city, as were the souls of Valhalla and talk with old friends and relatives, but they could not spend the night with former fathers, brothers, friends and husbands. Probably for the best. If old wives discovered what their husbands did in the vast mead hall of Valhalla, there would be Hel to pay.

With Valhalla itself in sight and rapidly approaching, Odin stirred himself for departure. Looking back at Heimdallr, he knew something was seriously wrong with him, as the verses now glowed hot like embers in a roaring hearth and even with the cold winds whipping around him, Odin could feel the feverish heat that radiated from Heimdallr's lifeless body. He stared with morbid interest at the verses of death, decay, vengeance and foreboding. Do not provoke your children to wrath. If any should destroy God's temple, God shall destroy him. Odin's lip curled in disgust. He knew that these were direct threats to him.

With the chariot beginning its descent, Odin braced himself and gripped his staff with a vice like grip. The Valkyries formed up in a neat line behind him in a perfect formation and the goats made an almost smooth landing. Despite this being a realm of Godlike power, chariot landings were still rough, even more so for being drawn by two goats. Shuddering to a stop in a courtyard of Valhalla, Odin sought to disembark before being surrounded by guards, Valkyries and returning warriors but age had slowed him and so he resorted to knocking back a few overzealous guards with his staff. With his ravens unable to land on his shoulders, they resorted to circling overhead and cawing frantically, only adding to the atmosphere of hysteria and panic. Descending down low, Odin was relieved to see the dour and purposeful glare of Tyr, the one handed war god and another of his sons. Standing in the midst of the crowd of guards and servants, he was easy to mark out. Even by the standards of the immortal gods, Tyr was huge, standing head and shoulders taller than Odin and looked every inch a warrior. Heimdallr, tall and strong though he is, was a guard, a sentinel, but Tyr was a warrior, a raider who had fought in countless battles, and had broken many a shield wall. Thousands had fallen beneath his hand, indeed for he only had one hand. The sword that swung from his hip had been drenched in the blood of beasts, mortals and most importantly, Angels. His formidable and battle worn armour made his impressive physique yet more intimidating, covered with chips and nicks from many blades. Underneath his helm and chainmail, it was difficult to see much of him, yet his stump where his right hand should be was more than enough to show that this was indeed Tyr.

Striding purposefully, Tyr began to make his way through the mob of guards, first patiently, then as his patience ran out he began swatting the guards aside out of irritation, using his stump to give many a concussion, accompanied with grunts and cries of "move" and "earsling!", meaning arsehole. Odin regained his composure and regal stance as Tyr finally reached him. With a fierce growl, Tyr called "SILENCE". At once the mob fell silent.

"My lord" grunted Tyr, a far cry from Heimdallr's greeting of reverence and Thor's respectful greeting to his father, "are you wounded?"

Shaking his head, Odin stared up at his general and did his best to make eye contact. "No, Tyr, my son. Nothing I cannot treat myself. The lackey retreated and didn't cause me much harm. But Heimdallr..." Trailing off he turned to see the still comatose guard still lying at the bottom of the chariot. No guard nor servant had attended him in their mad rush to see their king. With an edge of contempt in his voice, Odin continued "the angel lackey performed some foul sorcery upon him, and now his skin burns hot with fever. I knew the followers of the God of Abraham were untrustworthy, but to resort to the plague..." As he trailed off again, Tyr felt a pang of rage and horror surge within him. Confusion riddled his head. He was well aware that Odin had fought a duel, but with a follower of the God of Abraham? And an angel, no less. The news shook Tyr to his core. Clenching his one fist, he strode forward, knocking guards to their feet in his desperation to reach his comrade. Sure enough, Heimdallr lay motionless, his skin covered with rashes of foul biblical verses, burning and hot to the touch, drenching his skin with a feverish sweat.

Turning to the assembled guards, Tyr began to bellow orders, his authority reinforced by his barely contained rage so that it carried through the entire palace of Asgard,

"Move Heimdallr to Eir's quarters, she will know what to do! Wear gloves as you carry him and avoid touching his skin, we don't know whether the sorcery is contagious!"

As the guards obeyed, Tyr stepped aside from the chariot so that the guards could carry out his orders, breathing heavily as he tried to assess the situation while moving to rejoin Odin. If Gabriel had indeed struck down Heimdallr and attacked his king, then Tyr's worst fears would be confirmed. The war god did not fear war, obviously, but the circumstances daunted him. Their first line of defence had been struck down and Asgard was a shadow of its former self. Heaven reigned supreme, however slightly it was declining. Asgard and its forces were formidable, but there could be no illusions, Heaven held the advantage and had just dealt a severe blow. Distracted from his assessment, Tyr turned to see the guards try to unbuckle and remove Heimdallr's armour, so that his formidable weight might be lessened and moving the god might be possible. Seething with indignation at the guards under his command trying to make their job easier through incompetence, the war god marched over and shook the highest ranking warrior he could reach by the neck and bellowed in his face

"WHAT DID I JUST FUCKING SAY ABOUT NOT TOUCHING HIS SKIN? YOU THINK A LIGHTER WEIGHT IS WORTH SPREADING THE SORCERY, YOU MEWLING SHIT?"

In Asgard and Valhalla, the guards are already dead warriors who have achieved enough renown to protect the realm, vulnerable only to the blades and deeds of those from outside of the realm of Asgard. Despite this near-immortality and skill at arms, the warrior still turned pale from fear for a war god's rage is terrible to behold and turned red as he struggled to breath as Tyr's hand tightened in a crushing grip around his throat. Nobody moved as Tyr seemed oblivious to the frightened glances of the guards around him, stunned into silence while Tyr gritted his teeth and growled. A single hand gripped Tyr's pauldron, enough to shake him out of his almost feral state and turn so that he may round upon the wretch who dared touch him, only to see his father's disapproving glare, his ice blue eyes piercing deep through Tyr's mist of rage.

"Release him. Now." Ordered the Allfather, with the cold authority of a lord giving final judgement on a trial. Reluctantly, Tyr loosened his grip on the warrior, leaving him to collapse, gasping for breath and winded on his knees. Without a second look, Tyr stormed off and made for Valhalla, the crowd parting instantly so that Tyr's anger was not provoked again. Turning back to the shocked warriors, Odin shrugged off a few attempts to dress his wounds. Among his many talents, he was the god of healing, and he'd be damned if he couldn't heal himself. Heimdallr was beyond his help, however. His life lay in Eir's miraculous hands.

As the guards and servants resumed trying to lift the cumbersome Heimdallr, Odin rolled his eyes at their feeble attempts and instead advised that the outermost layers of armour that made lifting awkward should be removed, as long as no skin was exposed. Acting swiftly, the outermost armour was left on the chariot which was duly led away to the stables. With the hysteria calmed, the ravens dutifully landed on his shoulders. Satisfied that Heimdallr would reach Eir in time, Odin turned on his heels and strode from the courtyard, in an effort to catch up with his son.

It was not difficult to find Tyr. The wanderer only had to follow the trail of destruction in Valhalla's corridors, with fist sized holes dotting the walls and a broken shield here or there. It could only have been Tyr, for the damage was mostly on the right side of the corridor. As he neared Tyr, he could hear distant thumps growing louder, and then grunts of effort. Sighing as he resigned himself to confronting his son, Odin turned a corner to see Tyr, still fully armoured, burying his fist in the wall, before ripping it out and turning to face his father. There was an awkward pause, interrupted as the allfather shooed his ravens away, causing them to screech at the disturbance as they took flight.

"Son..." Began Odin, unsure how to continue. But Tyr did.

"What happened out there?" Demanded Tyr, bristling and struggling to contain himself. "Why did you go alone? What caused you to leave the city for the first time in centuries, why is Heimdallr lying motionless with verses from the false god burning and writhing on his skin and what the Hel was an angel doing at the gates of our realm?!" His voice rose with each question and he advanced a step each time so that the distance between the two immortals closed to a metre.

Speaking slowly and with a voice heavy with sorrow, Odin attempted to answer "You ask questions, my son, and they shall be answered in time, if only you could..."

"No! That answer would satisfy Thor, father but it doesn't satisfy me! I am not your precious prince, I am a warrior and I earned the right to be treated as your general long ago! Now I will ask again. What happened out there?!" Ripping off his helm as he spoke, Tyr revealed his snarling, seething face as he looked down at his father's own withered yet noble appearance. Tyr, like his brother, was handsome, with blue eyes like sapphires, but he bore more scars than most. A line of claw marks dotted his right cheek where Fenrir, the world consuming wolf who had also claimed his right hand, had raked his claws across his face. His hair was a heavy oaken colour, as was his beard which unlike his father, he kept short so that no man could grab it in battle, but age had meant that grey hairs had begun to appear amongst the brown. Regardless, he looked scarcely middle aged and it was obvious to all that Tyr was a warrior still in his prime.

Staring back at his son, Odin felt his own blood boil at this impudence. Tyr deserved answers, that was true, but to talk to his king and father like this was unacceptable. Steeling himself for the rebuke, Odin replied, "You shall have answers later tonight, my son. For now, you will return to your command and spread word of a war council in Valhalla tonight. All gods, minus Eir and Heimdallr, are expected to attend. And you shall learn to address your king and father in that time!" Odin spat out the last words in furious indignation, tipping Tyr over the edge as he raised his fist to strike his father.

Expecting the blow, Odin instead swiftly swept his staff into Tyr's legs, surprising the war god as he collapsed onto the cold stone floor. His armour and strong legs meant that he felt no pain, but to be so quickly defeated by one so ancient was a surprise. Raising an eyebrow, Odin offered his hand to his son to rise, for now was not the time to fight amongst themselves. Accepting the hand with bad grace, Tyr rose, almost pulling his father down as he did so.

"And now my general, you will tell me what you did while Thor rode out to help Heimdallr and I."

Walking through the corridors as he did so, Tyr spoke in depth of the preparations he made when the ravens warned the gods of Odin's danger. While Thor called the drunken dead of Valhalla to battle, riding out without so much as a word of warning, Tyr locked down the city, called every available soul and spirit to defend the city. Those same warriors still man the defences and look for leadership. After hearing the lecture, Odin pondered for a moment and ordered that the defences stand down. There was no immediate danger, and the warriors must resume drinking if panic was not to spread.

Pausing before his chambers, Odin turned to his son. They had both calmed down, but Odin could see Tyr still resented him. Sighing, he reached out his hand and laid it on his son's huge pauldron. Glancing at it expectantly, Tyr waited. "My son, " Odin began, "I do not grudge you for your actions, but we cannot fight amongst ourselves. The drums of war sound again and now, more than ever before, the gods must stand united against the forces of heaven. Swear to me that you will show more restraint in future. Swear it."

Looking at his father, then to the hand, and then back to his father, Tyr could see that his father was serious. The situation was serious. If war on heaven was to resume, then only a United Asgard could hope to stand against it. Kneeling before his father and bowing his head, Tyr touched the hilt of his sword and swore "I swear it father". Satisfied, Odin entered his chambers without another word. There was still some hope.

That hope evaporated as he saw that his dimly lit chambers were empty. Frigg, his wife and queen, would know by now of his skirmish and injuries. If the Angels didn't kill him, she damn well would. "Bloody Hel" swore Odin, as he declined into a chair and began to dress his wounds.

Hours later, with the sun already set over Asgard and with Valhalla filled with the warriors who had been recalled from the defences and returned from the gates of Asgard, Odin strode from his chambers to the main hall, changed out of his wander's cloak and into noble robes worthy of a king, swathed in blood red scarlet and ebony black, encrusted with rubies and other jewels, though he still had the snow white beard and carried his wanderer's staff. Usually the sounds of revelling, fighting, feasting and music would be heard throughout the palace as the honoured dead enjoyed their afterlife with vigour, but tonight was different. Music still played, songs were sang but the atmosphere was subdued. Warriors gathered in groups and drank heavily, but to calm their worries rather than drink themselves into a stupor. Rumours abounded. Some said that Heimdallr was dead, others that he returned to the gates still in his coma, unable to break his oath even in his current state. Whispers flew as to the role of Gabriel in the skirmish. Was he sent to assassinate the Allfather? Some said that the Allfather conspired to murder Gabriel by luring him into an ambush which backfired, while the most foolish warriors said that Odin had tried to kill Heimdallr with Gabriel's assistance. They had been laughed at, but as the honoured dead drank heavily, they couldn't help but worry. Even the gods who sat at Valhalla's high table and watched the feasting were confused and worried as to Odin's role and the fate of Heimdallr.

As Odin strode into the main hall, he was greeted with an assault on most of the senses. A deafening roar of "Hail!" was raised by every warrior in the great hall, the smells of every roast meat possible, along with the sweet aroma of swilling mead wafted around him and the bright lights of hundreds of hearths and candles caused him to blink as his eyes adjusted to the light. Valhalla, the great hall of the dead was always a magnificent sight to behold. Larger than a cathedral, yet built entirely of wood with its ceiling thatched with golden shields. Great hearths roared in the midst of the hundreds of thousands of men and women who feasted heartily on the finest meats, worthy of kings and jarls and drank well enough to put ten men on the floor. Sweet music from the Valkyries soothed everyone, yet could continue over the drunken riots that regularly started.

Odin gritted his teeth to the task ahead. Tonight was no night for revelling, especially as Heimdallr's life lay in the balance. From what he had heard, Eir was working tirelessly but her skills were stretched thin over the mysterious sorcery that had struck Heimdallr. At least the sorcery was not contagious, or this new war would be over before it had even begun. Moving to the table at the high end of the hall, the other gods already seated rose in respect, as did the hundreds of thousands of warriors present. The mood for revelry had to end so that the war council could begin in earnest. Though Odin took his throne, he remained standing and therefore nobody else sat down. With a slight jerk of his head, the music was silenced. The hall held its breath as they listened closely for the Allfather's words, with only the crackle of the hearths and awkward shuffling to break the silence.

The elder god raised his staff and slammed it down on the hard stone floor, it's thump echoing throughout the entire hall for all to hear. Doing this twice more, each as ominous as the last, Odin began to speak

" I call an end to the feasting tonight. Leave my hall and drink your fill somewhere else. The war council has been called and Valhalla is commandeered".

At first, nobody moved. For Valhalla to be emptied so early in the night seemed ridiculous. The mead hall was open all hours and the revelry never ended. Whispers began, which grew into mutterings and whistles and shouting within seconds. Someone threw a flagon towards the high table and a fight broke out around a hearth. Incensed at this apparent challenge to his power, Odin pounded the table and bellowed "LEAVE" with a roar that echoed through the hall and silenced all dissent. From their drinking horns, Tyr and Thor smiled with approval, while other gods merely watched for signs of any more disapproval. Reluctantly, the horde of warriors departed their feasting hall, some dragging their friends who were unable to walk while others voiced their bitterness by kicking over benches as they left. It took ten minutes but eventually, Valhalla was empty for the first time since in millennia.

Looking around the high table, Odin surveyed the gods and goddesses around him. Aegir and Njord, Sif, Freya, Idun, Skadi, along with Tyr and Thor who had been waiting for hours. Ull and countless other gods were seated around him, hanging on his every word. There were a few empty seats, such as Eir and Heimdallr, but also for gods who had fallen before, such as Balder, who's loss was mourned by everyone except the vile trickster Loki. Notably, Frigg and her handmaidens had still not appeared, so their seats were also vacant. Odin didn't care, his wife was doing this purely out of spite. Raising his drinking horn high, Odin spoke the words that he had dreaded and yet longed to speak for centuries. "I call this war council to order. Asgard is at conflict with heaven once more". Draining his horn, the other gods did the same, with a mixture of grim determination, sadness and relief at being unleashed upon heaven's armies again.

There was a short pause as the gods drained their horns and looked for Odin to begin the council. Instead he sat in silence, leaving a heavy air of expectation in the air. Ull, the cold old man of winter was forced to begin the council with "so it is confirmed then? It is war?". Odin nodded. There was an uncertainty of what to do. There was no imminent threat, no declaration of war from Heaven. For centuries the gods had dreamed of going to war again and defeating their hated foe, but now that war was upon them, they were indecisive.

At that moment, the side door of one of Valhalla's many corridors opened as the Frigg finally made her appearance. Like her husband, she had dressed for the occasion in a splendid dress, only she was accompanied by her handmaidens, who were goddesses in their own right. With the other gods rising out of their chairs out of respect for her, Frigg took her time in reaching the table, as might be expected of a queen. Odin only realised what her intentions were when, instead of taking her seat at her husband's side, she instead turned to face her husband and without a word, delivered a stinging right hook to Odin's cheek. The gods flinched out of instinct, but unsure what to do as while their king had been struck, they couldn't attack the queen. The goddesses, meanwhile, just sucked in their lips and said "ohhhhhh". Even immortals were bitchy, it seemed.

Shaking with fury, Frigg struggled to keep her composure as she addressed her husband, speaking slowly but clearly, "you stubborn, mindless, ancient, damnable fool. You've doomed us all, do you realise that? And for what? So that you could feel some lost power again? Was it worth fighting that angel so that you could feel like a god again?"

Odin stared at his wife, remaining calm, in fact, even cracking a grin as he knew she would change her tone once he revealed the news that would change their fortunes and restore their entire faith. Frigg, however, didn't particularly appreciate her husband grinning during her rebuke, and delivered a vicious left hook. Once again, the gods flinched, while the goddesses looked on with approval.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself? You've just doomed us! How can we hope to stand against heaven with a pack of mead swilling drunkards?! We've lost! Do you not understand that?" Raising her voice to a screech, Frigg was clearly unleashing her pent up anger that she had built up throughout the day. Thor, attempted to rise and calm the situation. He had hoped for a war council, not another family dispute, Hel knows they've had enough of them.

"My lady, please..."

"Silence Bastard! You would not even be here if this old fool hadn't whelped you into this world! You have no right to sit at this table, any more than the hounds by the hearth. You are no prince of Asgard! You are just a bastard with a hammer!"

Thor turned red with fury at these remarks. It was true that he was indeed a bastard and had heard it all before, but at a war council, in front of everyone when he had planned a grand stratagem, was humiliation enough. Without thinking, he raised his hammer, only for Odin to bellow "NO!".

The council fell into a farce then. Some gods tried to reassert order but it was fruitless, as factions formed around gods who demanded action. Frigg and her handmaidens demanded peace at any price, while Thor and Tyr favoured immediate assaults, but quarrelled over whether it should be Midgard or heaven that was targeted. A few just sat there getting drunk. Odin didn't try to assert order at all, instead he attempted to listen to the farce for good solutions but eventually tired of this and restored order with a thump of the table. Only Frigg attempted to keep shouting.

"You think because you command a mead hall that you can defeat heaven? You are nothing but a foolish old man with a couple of pet ravens and a walking stick! If you do not make peace, I shall!"

"You shall do no such thing!" Roared Odin, surprising Frigg, but not into silence

"And how do you suppose to win a battle with a horde of drunkards? Midgard is lost to us, Asgard stands alone!"

"No it does not!"

Silence greeted that statement. Who could possibly come to Asgard's aid? The last pagans who had honoured them in Midgard had died long ago, persecuted to the last by soldiers of the christian God. No warriors from Midgard had entered Valhalla in centuries.

Quivering with anticipation and confusion, Frigg pressed on, "what do you mean? Midgard is lost, the cross reigns there now."

Facing the table, Odin unveiled a map of Midgard, ignoring his wife's questions and pointed to Iceland. "There," he explained" in the city of Reykjavik, they call to us once more. You cannot deny that in recent years, you have felt a new power grow within you, one that you have not felt for centuries. In this city, they are building a temple for us, the first in centuries, to honour us. We have a presence on Midgard again! And not just that temple. Across Midgard, humans feel the old ways calling to them, as they now call to us. Tens of thousands of them, from the fatherlands to the colonies perform the sacred rites that their ancestors once performed for us. Frigg, you cannot deny that Asgard does not stand alone in this fight. We have warriors on Midgard again!"

The hall stood silent again. The prospect of having worshippers, mortal warriors to fight for them again was a dream that none had thought would happen again. Tyr rubbed his thumb over the hilt of his sword in anticipation. Warriors would dedicate their swords to him for battle prowess, in a warrior cult that produced legends. Gods around the table savoured the idea of sacrifices of meat, mead and prayers from pious folk. The gods might live again in Midgard.

But that dream was brought crashing down by Frigg, who burst out laughing. With attention all on her once again, she cackled in hysterical laughter, "you god of fools! You think one temple grants us power? A few ten thousand outcasts count as an army? On Midgard, our new 'followers' are more hopelessly outnumbered than we are! Your idiotic stance against Gabriel cost them their lives! You've not just doomed us, you've doomed them too!"

The silence fell once more on the table. Frigg was right. Even if these new worshippers were like their ancestors, what were the chances of them standing against the followers of the God of Abraham? They numbered in the billions now, and their temples dotted the earth. Their temples, churches as they were called, outnumbered their own followers by a huge margin. These new pagans would be slaughtered cruelly, just as their gods had begun to stir.

"Then we fight and die with them" murmured Odin. Frigg gasped. She did not think that Odin would take such a step.

"We accepted a shameful peace long ago. One that left soldiers of the cross free to butcher our warriors and lose their faiths out of fear. We shall not allow that to happen again." Turning to the assembled gods, his voice grew louder, "if the christians attack our new followers, we shall join the war in earnest. For too long we've hidden in this realm, and now we must stand beside those who give their souls to us, we shall not forsake our warriors a second time."

"You cannot! You stubborn old fool..." Eyes blinded by tears, Frigg could only launch another right hook at her husband again. This time, he was ready. Gripping her by the wrist, he stopped the punch before it landed and shoved her away. The queen stumbled and landed hard on her back, drawing gasps from the assembled gods. Her handmaidens squealed and fluttered around her, only to be slapped back by an indignant Frigg. Staring up at her husband through a face marred with tears, she steadily got up and murmured "you've damned us all to hell." Without another word, she left the hall, quickly followed by her fretting handmaidens.

Odin turned to the assembled gods with determination written across his face. "Is there anyone else who wishes to make peace?" No one spoke. "Then war it is".

Rising to his feet, Tyr raised a horn to his father "we are behind you my Lord, but my mother, hysterical though she was, was correct in one respect. We are hopelessly outnumbered, and our new followers in Midgard even more so. Our first move should be to secure their safety and shore up our defences in Asgard. Only then do we stand a chance of winning this war."

The proposal was met with murmurs of agreement. As the night went on however, and new information was brought in, the already slim prospects of victory dwindled further. The majority of pagans on Midgard were old, outcasts and few could be counted as warriors. Against the overwhelming hordes of the christians, how could they hope to stand against them? Untrained, weak and scattered, a bloodbath seemed inevitable.

The council dragged through the night, with war plans being made and remade, fights breaking out and being resolved, but the same problems kept arising in each battle plan. The lack of mortals on Midgard spelled disaster for all of them, unravelling every plan, no matter how intricate or foolproof. Tyr and Thor formed up two factions of gods,each desperate to take the fight to the enemy, but unsure how. Thor favoured assaulting heaven, while Tyr favoured guerrilla warfare on Midgard. Odin himself ceased to listen as dawn approached. One word had struck out to him at the beginning of the night and he could not remove it from his mind. Blood. What was it that was so vital that it overrode all else? The possibility of a bloodbath, no that wasn't it. It was their followers who had this blood, the blood that carried the faith from their ancestors, emerging now in this generation. This blood that bound them together. This blood that meant they were distinct form other mortals, removed from the Christians, the blood that called them.

The blood that called them.

The blood of the heathen that separated them from other mortals, that ensured the warrior spirit lived on, that made certain that pagans would rise again.

The blood that called to them. A ritual that would cost them dear, but award a chance of victory.

Hammering his fist down onto the table again, the hall fell silent. Raising his head and staring out at the rising sun as its first beams reached his throne. Odin made the declaration.

"We call the Heathen's Blood."


	6. The Ritual

The eldest gods stared at Odin with mouths gaping in horror and bewilderment, while the youngest gods looked merely puzzled at this new development. Thor cocked his head slightly, while Tyr raised his eyebrow but it was clear that he knew just as little about this so called "Heathen's Blood" as Thor did. Ull cleared his throat and looked uneasily about him, and Odin smiled as the warm light of dawn bathed him in its glow, closing his eyes and drinking in the satisfaction of his revelation. He knew that barely any of the assembled gods knew, or even remembered what he was talking about but that didn't matter. What mattered was that the forces of Asgard had an ace up their sleeve, which would surprise the forces of heaven and give the followers of the old gods on earth a fighting chance against the onslaught, the tide of the followers of Abraham. One could hope.

Breathing out in relief, the Allfather looked around at his assembled gods and goddesses, each one eagerly waiting for some form of explanation, some leaning in in anticipation. He couldn't keep secrets from them anymore and knew that in order to have some chance of victory, and for their full trust and participation, they had to know all the details up front. Still, he was their liege Lord and he would make them wait about it.

"Father" Thor began, then paused, not willing to betray his ignorance, "what is this "Heathen's Blood" of which you speak?"

Odin snorted in false derision, although he knew his son had every right to know and couldn't be expected to know of a power older than most of the gods themselves. Sighing, he began,

"You may have heard of many stories of how our universe came to be. The followers of the God of Abraham claim that their God created Midgard and the universe in seven days. For us and our worlds, including Asgard and the other eight worlds, life began when the heat of Muspell and the cold of Niflheim met in the void that was Ginnunagap and the thawing drops that resulted from this meeting created the first frost giant, Ymir. From his sweat came the other frost Giants."

Tyr rolled his eyes and slouched in his seat. He knew his father knew that all the gods knew of their own creation, but Odin had a habit of being long winded. Best to just sit it out and see if there was a point to it.

"Ymir's pet giant cow was licking salt blocks when she thawed out the first man, Buri, the perfect man who begot a son, named Bor. My own father. He begot myself and two brothers, Vili and Ve. We went to war with Ymir and killed him, causing an ocean of blood to pour forth and drown most frost Giants, bar two. From Ymir's corpse, we crafted the nine worlds. From his brains we created the clouds,from his blood we created the seas and the rivers, his flesh became soil, his bones became mountains, his teeth became rocks and his hair became trees. At four points of the earth we assigned a dwarf to hold up the sky, who's names are North, South, East and West. The sparks that were scattered from Muspell during our battle with Ymir were recaptured and became the light which illuminates the cosmos. Finally, While walking along the sea shore my brothers and I found two trees, and from them they created a man and a woman.

I gave the man and the woman spirit and life. Vili gave them understanding and the power of movement. Vé gave them clothing and names. The man was named Ash and the woman Embla From Ask and Embla have sprung the races of men who lived in Midgard."

Odin took a deep breath and looked around the assembled gods and wondered whether he should continue. All, except Tyr, who could never stand his father's stories, waited with baited breath for him to continue. The revelation that he was about to unveil could break all that they held sacred.

"But our story of creation is just as valid as the God of Abraham's."

First there was confusion, then murmurs, then an explosion of outrage, ridicule and denial from the assembled gods, this time directed solely against Odin. How could two systems of belief be right? How could such a thing be possible? Thor and Sif led the younger gods in their dissent, adding outrage at being excluded from this knowledge from the elder gods while Ull, Aegir and Njord actually crowded around Odin and demanded answers from their king, oaths be damned. All around felt deceived, except the eldest three. The two brothers, Vili and Ve had been present from the beginning of the meeting, but had stayed silent. Thoughout time, they had honoured their eldest brother and had slunk away from the histories, paying homage to their brother and allowing him the power he rightly deserved as king. As the eldest of the assembled gods bar Odin, they had held the knowledge of creation with their brother and had spoken of it to no one. Looking across at one another, they nodded and rose. Ve slammed his tankard into the banqueting table, his aged hands rippling with power as not only did the tankard break into several pieces, spilling mead into his long, thick white beard, but also his fist broke through the table, the crack of the ancient wood echoing around the vast chamber. For good measure, Vili's voice boomed around the hall as he called "SIIIIIIIIIIILEEENCE!"

The effect was immediate. The assembled gods did indeed fall silent and sheepishly returned to their seats, the youngest gods being the most reluctant. Tyr and Thor glared at their uncles with a mixture of curiosity and resentment. Vili and Ve rarely spoke at all, and the two had joked as children as saying that they had achieved their life's purpose at the dawn of creation and proposed to do sod all else until Ragnarok. Being overheard saying these jokes had earned them many hard hidings from their uncles with the full blessing of their father and in the two brothers, the memory of those hidings still stirred resentment. Still, if the two had something to say, they would listen.

The three eldest brothers locked eyes for a moment, with a look that was a mixture of respect and the wisdom of ages. The Allfather nodded and withdrew his palm from his robes, indicating that he wanted them to proceed. Drawing breath, Vili spoke first, with a voice that was grim, sober and quiet, yet echoed around the hall with the sheer weight of the knowledge that Vili expressed,

"At the dawn of creation, we as gods, our heavens, our eight worlds, were just one universe amongst many, though separated by thin walls of reality. Our creation story is real for us, in the same way that the God of Abraham's story is real for him and his followers. For it occurred in their realm, separated from ours, it is real."

Ve took up the story, his voice slightly higher, yet equally weighed down by the sagacity that was held by his brother,

"But when it came to the creation of Midgard, something phenomenal happened. Across every universe, every god attempted to create their version of Midgard at the exact same time. The sheer power required to forge such a world would fracture the walls of reality, but thousands of gods, attempting to create a similar world at the same time shattered reality, causing a devastating explosion that brought all the realms of all the gods into one universe after each tried to create the same world."

Vali, the hot tempered God of revenge, spoke up, still unable to believe what was being said. "Horse shit! If any of this were true, then how come mortals have been created so differently, yet so alike? I know for a fact we did not create the dark haired men of the Mediterranean, nor the pale men of the western isles! And every creation story that the mortals spout depicts the world as they experience it! No Arab or African speaks of snow in how Midgard came to be, and no Norseman speaks of a desert!"

Odin hammered his clenched fist on the feasting table, spilling a few tankards of mead in his indignation at his bastard son's outburst. One look was enough for Vali to be cowed, though he continued to seethe at Ve, irritated for his humiliation. Ve, meanwhile, continued, as though nothing had happened at all, but he addressed Vali's questions.

At the moment of the creation of Midgard, humanity was created in all of the gods images, in every corner of the globe. The gods of the wise Greeks had their mortals in Greece and were shaped after them. The gods of the Aztecs, the same. Our mortals were shaped after us, in the frozen and hardy North. And so, our mortals were shaped and influenced by their environments for millions of years after their creation. Each set of gods had their 'sphere of influence' with their peoples, and so ours was the North of the continent of Europe, the dark forests, the scattered islands and the frozen landscape blanketed by snow. Our peoples reflected our own image in that they were tall, strong and long bearded. And so each group of mortals reflected their own gods".

This time it was Dagur, God of the daytime, who spoke up, with plain, genuine curiosity in his voice, "that's all well and good my lords, but how does this relate to this 'Heathen's Blood' that the Allfather speaks of?"

Rising from his throne, the Allfather addressed his two brothers with a dismissive wave, "Allow me my brothers, I can shine light on this area. Your assistance is no longer needed." Both aged gods nodded in respect at Odin's words, and sat down again, resuming their silence for what would seem like another millennia. By now the gods were gripped by this information and no one stirred as Odin began to speak.

"The Heathen's Blood is what ties us to mortals. It is our own blood that flows through the veins of humans, tying men to their gods and gods to their worshippers. It was at its strongest at the dawn of creation, and as a result, the strongest of men were there at the earliest of times. Sigmar, the dragon slayer, Beowulf, Ragnar Lothbrok, and numerous other heroes. Over time, the Heathen's Blood lost its power in the majority of mortals, but flowed ever stronger in the veins of the most exceptional of men, the warriors, the bards and the kings. Sometimes, the amount of Heathen's Blood in Midgard was strengthened by our kin who would travel to Midgard and lay with the women and the menfolk of humans. Heimdallr..." He trailed off for a moment, but swiftly composed himself, "but he was not the only one" Odin glared at Thor, who fidgeted his glance away from Sif, his equally annoyed wife. "The resulting children were strong with the Heathen's Blood, but since the christians have either slain or converted our followers, the Heathen's Blood lies dormant, and many bloodlines of many kings lie extinct. However, there is a way of awakening the blood. A ritual that would send out a call to all those with our blood in them. It is our hidden force, one that can surprise the christians on Midgard and shift this war in our favour before it even starts."

In the ensuing silence, the gods all processed this news. It was something of a common pastime for most gods to travel to Midgard and breed with mortals. The number of warriors, however diluted and with many bloodlines extinct, would be staggering. Across the world, the descendants of warriors would heed the call and do battle with christians once again. Tyr, however remained unconvinced and snorted his contempt at the Allfather's plan.

"Father, even if your ritual worked, how could we possibly reach out to those with this 'Heathen's Blood'? These will not be hardened warriors, nor do they know of their ancestors ways. They will be weak men, unable to lift a sword nor recite a saga. How could we train them, or get them to understand the call? They may be my descendants, but they will not be worthy of me, nor of any weapon". A few gods murmured their agreement. Time is always a great weakener of men.

Odin's righteous fury grew at his son's complaints. Here he was, throwing the gods a lifeline that could change the course of this war, and yet his son, the God of war, was complaining of the quality of warriors before he had even seen them. His solitary eye turned from a wistful blue to a stony grey in his rage and he shook with fury. It had been a long night and this impudence would not be tolerated.

"Does the famine stricken farmer lament a few blights on his crops?!" He roared. Tyr shot to his feet. His father used metaphors to talk down to him while he was a child and he despised this, God of wisdom or not. Odin continued, unabated "This is not a war we can win in the heavens, nor one where we can afford to have my ungrateful sons questioning me at every turn! You forget your place boy! You are not my heir, nor are you my equal! Not in this hall! Not ever!"

Now it was Tyr's turn to shake with rage, reaching for his sword with his one good hand, he would not be spoken to in such a way by his father, not in front of the other gods. His hand was only stayed by Vár, goddess of contract, who gripped his scabbard tightly. Though infuriated by this obstacle, the moment's pause allowed Tyr to reconsider and he let go of his mighty sword, hand still shaking at this humiliation. Odin did not let up in his criticism, however.

"You would bear arms against me?! Your father, your Lord and King?! Has the trickster robbed you of your wits?! How can we go to war when you can barely follow orders, how can we trust you to lead?!" Pausing for breath, Odin looked to his son for an answer but Tyr bit his tongue, unable to look at his father. "For your impudence," Odin continued, "you shall train these new warriors in the ways of war and in the ways of their ancestors. You are to be their quartermaster, their chieftain and their failings are to be yours. Do you understand me?!"

Tyr lifted his head, bristling with indignation and managed to spit a reply of "Yes my lord" before returning to his seat. Odin felt the need to end the meeting before further questions could be raised. A king could only stamp his authority on his underlings so many times before resentment builds at his "tyranny".

"This meeting is at an end. I dismiss you all to rest and return to your duties, gather your strength for tonight where the ritual shall be conducted. Go!" At this the gods got up and left, with only Tyr making no attempt to be respectful in their exit from the great hall of Valhalla. Thor meanwhile, struggled to contain his delight at his brother's humiliation. Odin remained for several moments, alone in the great hall, listening only to the echoing footsteps growing ever distant as each god and goddess made their separate ways, and then only when the faint sputtering of the many hearths of Valhalla could be heard did he sigh and with a dismissive gesture of the hand, the gates of Valhalla opened again. As the first warriors returned and took their places at the benches beside the hearths and called for mead, Odin strode from the hall to Eir's healing chambers.

As he neared her chambers, the Allfather could pick up a faint foul stench. He knew it well, having been surrounded by it on numerous occasions on battlefields across the cosmos. It was the smell of rotting flesh. For Eir, as a healing goddess, she and her chambers often had the strong air of healing herbs around her wherever she walked but whatever was causing this stench was enough to overpower that smell. As he approached her chambers, he also became aware of an intense heat, growing ever warmer as he neared the door. As he pushed it open, the elder god was greeted by a strong waft of heat and the stench assaulted his nose once more, more powerful as it overwhelmed his senses. Stepping into the chambers, he glanced around. Eir was an ordered goddess usually, her healing scrolls, potions and herbs each in their proper place and properly named, but this time they were scattered around the chambers, some on the floor and with jars half opened. As Odin entered, he caught the slight smell of each herb as he walked past, still overpowered by the stench of rotting flesh and more than once he stepped into a puddle of some sticky potion that had smashed into the floor, the result being that Odin now made a strange slurp with one foot as it stuck to his shoe. He was glad that his ravens were not in the chambers with him, as the last thing Eir needed was a load of bird shit to worsen this mess.

Turning a corner, he was surprised to find Eir slumped against the wall, with her once beautiful and ordered hair matted and sticky around her face. Her apron and hands were red with clotted blood, much to Odin's alarm, but upon closer inspection he found the blood to not be hers, and that she was merely asleep. It was clear that she had laboured hard to keep Heimdallr alive throughout the night, and so he was content to let her rest. What he was more interested in was the state of Heimdallr.

Turning to the table on the room, Odin found Heimdallr restrained by thick leather straps and wheezing heavily as he struggled to breathe. The sentinel of Asgard had been stripped of his armour and underclothes and wore nothing but a loincloth to cover his manhood. Like Eir, he too was covered in thick, clotted blood but besides several small cuts on his arms and abdomen, Odin could find no wound on him. What was worrying, however, was that the neon bible verses continued to glow brightly on almost every inch on his skin. Granted, they were not as bright as before, but there was something menacing about them and the old God could have sworn they glowed brighter at his approach. Other than that, the signs were positive. He too seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep rather than being unconscious as he was the previous night and upon closer inspection and checking of his pulse, the Allfather was pleased to find that his heart beat stronger than before. He was recovering at least. Satisfied that Asgard's sentinel was in a stable condition, Odin's curiosity got the better of him and he began inspecting the various instruments and jars that were scattered around the operating table. A small blade used to make precise incisions on Heimdallr, with drops of blood still stuck to the blade was located near his wrist, and healing scrolls were unfurled and gathered in a heap at his feet. What irked Odin most, however, were a collection of half a dozen jars on the floor, a couple on their side and were missing their lids, spilling the contents of what appeared to be ash or dust upon the floor. Odin attempted to pick one up, but the ash made the side slippery enough for it to fall from his grip and smash upon the floor, causing Eir to wake up with a start, confused, murmuring something about lavender and taking a few moments to recognise the king of Asgard.

"My lord... I I I apologise" she stammered, stumbling to her feet and straightening her apron and surgeon's clothes out, "if I had known that you were coming, I would have cleaned these chambers, made things more to your liking, if you have the time I"

The Allfather raised a dismissive hand and shook his head politely "my lady, there is no need to apologise, I understand completely. I can see you laboured hard to save Heimdallr, and for that I am grateful". The ensuing silence between them was awkward, so Odin turned back to the still wheezing Heimdallr. "How is he?" He inquired

Continuing to straighten herself out, Eir regained her composure and began explaining, gaining a professional tone to her voice as she did "what the archangel did to him, I have no idea. I've tended warriors from many battlefields who were afflicted by many forms of dark magic, but never this. The corruption spread through him quickly, causing a fever that threatened to burn him from the inside out It's not contagious, so at least he's of no danger to anyone else, but it took hours to bring him into a stable condition and he depleted my supply of leeches in cleansing his bloodstream."

Odin looked around. How could leeches be depleted? They would have fed and grown on fat on the blood. Where had they gone? Seeing her lord's confusion, Eir nodded and pointed towards the jars of ash at Odin's feet. "They lasted minutes before bursting into flame. Luckily I'm fairly confident that his blood his now cleansed and the taint has burnt along with my leeches."

Nodding in understanding, Odin now looked to Eir. "Is it possible, my dear that I can extract a sample of Heimdallr's blood, if it is indeed free of taint?"

Eir looked confused for a moment, unable to fathom the Allfather's reasons but nodded her consent and reached for the small blade, lifting Heimdallr's huge arm in order to make the necessary incision. Making the small slit,both God and goddess jumped back in surprise as Heimdallr rose up, and roared, barely restrained by the thick leather straps that held him to the table. What was initially an intelligible roar was followed by strange snarling and lots of spittle, before Heimdallr paused and began to scream in fear.

"BREAD OF HEAVEN...SOARING ON WINGS ON HIGH...BLESSED BE THE MEEK FOR THEY SHALL INHERIT...AND I DID SAY IT IS GOOD... I CAST THEE OUT...DOWN INTO THE PITS OF SULPHUR AND BRIMSTONE..." Heimdallr was cut off as Odin delivered a sharp blow to his forehead, making him comatose once more. A few moments passed, as neither Odin nor Eir moved, until she moved forward and analysed the growing lump on Heimdallr's forehead and seemed satisfied that Odin had not delivered a death blow to him.

Odin could only grumble "now I see why you needed restraints" as Eir set about collecting Heimdallr's blood into a vial and handed it to the Allfather, before the wound started to clot. "I ask that you join us tonight for a ceremony in the great hall. I am in need of rest, so ask one of the other gods why. And you have my thanks, Eir. Without your talents, we would have lost Asgard's faithful guard."

Eir bowed, "tis nothing my lord" but Odin had already turned to leave.

That night Odin dismissed the hundreds of thousands of warriors from the great hall of Valhalla once more, much to their chagrin, as hundreds now faced the prospect of being sober for the first time in centuries. Odin did not care, for this ritual couldn't afford to be interrupted by hundreds of thousands of drunks. Besides, many were now required to guard the gates of Valhalla and Asgard, lest heaven's spies already know of the ritual and would seek to disrupt it. The blood ritual, for all Odin knew, could weaken the gods significantly and immediately afterwards they might be at their most vulnerable. It had been a long time since Angels had raided Asgard. The long dead warriors were required to defend it at all cost.

As the gods gathered, Odin was relieved to see that they were all well rested, considering that this ritual may weaken them greatly. Even Eir had rested well, and now looked as refreshed and beautiful as always. As midnight drew near, Odin gathered them all at the high altar at the very end of the great hall, and had three Valkyries place a richly decorated, ornate bronze chalice, with drains carved into the side of the inside of the chalice, leading into a pool with a single spear head pointing upwards. All the gods gathered in a circle around this chalice, with Odin stood at its head. Clearing his throat, he began.

"I trust you know that this ritual requires each of you to sacrifice your blood. We may be weakened for some time afterwards and there is no guarantee that the ritual will work. I ask that you participate, so that in this war, Midgard is not lost to us from the start. Do you consent to this sacrifice?"

The assembled gods nodded and murmured their agreement. Tyr, still sullen, had a fire in his eyes that meant that although he was unhappy with the quality of warriors, and his role as their quartermaster and drill sergeant, he was eager to go to war once more. Satisfied that the ritual would commence, Odin waited in silence until midnight and when the clock struck dead, he raised his hands and all but a handful of hearths went out, as meaning that the light in their end of the hall came from a few candles that ringed the chalice. Speaking softly he began, his voice rising and lowering in volume,

"Mortals of Midgard, hear your gods As the dark clouds of war gather, and the heavens are torn asunder, we call you to the banners that your ancestors fought under. The bear, wolf, owl, raven and serpent have been quiet in the long night of centuries and now they rise. Rise with them. With the blood of the three eldest, we make this call".

Vili and Ve stepped forward into the circle and revealed their palms and a hidden dagger from inside their robes. Odin did the same. As one, all three slit their palms with their savage blades and placed the hands so that the blood flowed into the rivets rather than into the pool at the bottom. Clenching their fist so that all three could get every drop required, they watched as the blood flowed through the rivets, twisting and turning in its ornate flow until at the same time, it flowed into the pool, meeting the spearhead at once. From within the chalice, the spearhead began to ever so slightly glow a faint blue. Vili and Ve stepped back, their work done, and the two elder gods took up a low chant as a background to Odin's call.

"With the knowledge of ages, and she who bore the younger gods, my children, of marriage that binds a man and woman, my wife makes the call."

Frigg stepped forward sullenly and Odin could tell she was still furious at the previous night's events. Still, she outstretched her palm and slit it like the three brothers had done before her, and so the blood flowed and the spearhead glowed slightly brighter.

"My sons and daughters, of thunder and war, of love, fertility and all that gives life it's colour and rich experience, make this call".

As one, all the called gods and goddesses stepped forward and slit their palms. Tyr, despite being one armed, slit his other arm instead, and so the blood flowed from him more than the others but other than a concealed grunt he made no sign of discomfort. The spearhead began to glow significantly brighter.

"Of the trickster and the sentinel, one who spreads mischief and anarchy and the other who keeps order within our realm, they make this call"

At that moment Odin produced two vials from within his robes, one of Heimdallr's blood and the other of the trickster god's blood, Loki. This raised a few eyebrows from amongst the assembled gods, but no one uttered a word as Odin poured the contents of both vials into the chalice. And so Odin made the call with each god, and each one gave their blood to the chalice. The spearhead illuminated the entire chalice now, and made the White beards of the elder gods seem blue. Vili and Ve's chant grew louder and so Odin's call grew louder

"HEAR US MORTALS OF MIDGARD! THOSE WHO SHARE THE BLOOD OF GODS, OF THE NORSEMEN OF OLD AND THE WARRIORS OF THE NORTH! WE CALL TO YOU, OUR DESCENDANTS, AT THE ONSET OF WAR AND WHEN THE END OF DAYS IS UPON US! RETURN TO YOUR ANCESTORS, RETURN TO THE WAYS OF HONOUR, BRAVERY AND WAR! IN THE FATHERLANDS, YOU WILL HEAR! IN THE COLONIES, YOU WILL HEAR! WHEREVER YOUR BLOOD HAS SPREAD, YOU WILL HEAR! SO ARISE WARRIORS! ARISE YOU SONS OF DAUGHTERS OF THE FROZEN NORTH! ARISE! YOU DESCENDANTS OF GODS!

As the Allfather spoke, the spearhead glowed brighter than ever before and the blood in the chalice began to rise. From its centre, the spearhead arose, lifting the blood as it went until it stood above Odin's height, glowing ever brightly. Sparks erupted from the spearhead and Odin's sole eye glittered in amazement.

"Arise." He whispered and lightening shot from the spearhead, shooting up into the sky and through the roof of Valhalla.

From behind Odin, a small crack could be heard as the glass behind broke slightly and an ivory white arrow pierced the spearhead, shattering it into dozens of pieces and ending the stream of lightening. The blood collapsed back into the chalice and as Odin turned, disheartened and angered to see the source of the fatal blow to the ritual, dozens of pearly white, robed and armoured Angels crashed through the glass at the back of Valhalla on white wings and bearing swords of flame. At their head flew none other than the Archangel himself, Gabriel.


End file.
